


Life In Captivity

by ArwenLune



Series: Rock Happy 'verse [10]
Category: Generation Kill, Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Gen, Gen Fic, Just another day in Pegasus, Team, The Further Adventures Of Brad Colbert IN SPACE
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-30
Updated: 2012-08-30
Packaged: 2017-11-13 05:32:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/500035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArwenLune/pseuds/ArwenLune
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Be nice, or I'll tell people you totally do cuddle."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Life In Captivity

**Author's Note:**

> I've had a scene from this finished since about chapter 12 of Rock Happy, and I built the rest around it. I can feel myself getting dragged toward Avengers (which, because I wanted Rock Happy finished, I have not actually watched yet) so I'm trying to boot all these shorties out of the door.

They were herded down a long hallway, sloping down into the rock face. Brad protested and was prodded resolutely with the long staves the locals were using. Not quite spears, but too much and too many to take on with only his small boot knife. The LT gave him a 'pipe down' gesture, and he gritted his teeth, placing himself between the hostiles and her.

They were prodded into a side branch of the hallway, roughly hews out of rock and not as nicely polished as the main throughway. Then after a few turns they were shoved into a cave and locked in. Their captors hadn't said a word.

By unspoken agreement they explored the cave. It was eight of Brad's long paces across. There was a nook with two buckets, one filled with sawdust. Along the wall a small trickle of water was collected in a roughly hewn basin before it ran over into a gutter. Not a lot of water, but enough to drink, he thought.

"In terms of offworld prisons, this is kind of luxurious," the LT said dryly, prodding a small bale of straw with her foot. "There's even bedding. Kind of."

Brad swallowed about five different replies about how _fucked_ they were, and took a deep breath. He wasn't about to be out-frostied by an officer. Even if she was a regular medallist in the Atlantis Understatement Olympics.

"Does it have convenient check-out options?"

"No..." she was looking up at the ceiling, four metres above their heads. There was a narrow channel letting in air and a little light. "No, I shouldn't think so, at least not that way."

It took him a few minutes to decipher her reaction as weary irritation, more 'not this shit again' than real fear. She wasn't happy by any means, but she didn't really seem to fear for their lives. He told himself that she had been in this galaxy longer and had seen and resolved plenty of capture situation, and that her judgement was probably sound. It was the only thing that kept him from homicidal rage.

"I'm going to see how sturdy those bars are," he announced.

"Okay," she said agreeably, studying the little water basin.

Brad examined the door. It was set in a grate of solid metal bars, deeply embedded into the rock wall. The door was some kind of ancient wood, grey and hard as stone. They had matches and straw, they could try to burn it, but it might be too old to get going, and they'd probably smoke themselves out long before they gave anybody else trouble.

"Not this way either," he reluctantly concluded.

"Water's potable," Lt. Brittner said behind him, putting away her test kit. At least that was something: they had locked their weapons and electrical equipment into the jumper before entering the sacred hall, but they'd kept their personal gear, so they were locked up with everything they'd carried in their pockets.

At her gesture he sat down on the straw bale and let her treat the wound on his temple. He'd tried to fight, when the natives had decided he and the LT needed to be taken away. He'd had a whack across the head with one of their long staves. She was doing a full head injury examination, including checking his pupil response. He knew he didn't have a concussion, just a headache, but the routine seemed to comfort her, so he let her.

"You been in worse prisons, ma'am?"

"Oh sure. Usually I'm the one getting people out of them, but in terms of hygiene this one's pretty decent. Would be nice if it weren't so cold though."

They had their BDU jackets and Brad was on the cool side of comfortable, which probably meant she would definitely get to uncomfortably cold if they were in here for any length of time. They had a couple of foil emergency blankets though, and the straw would help, so he doubted it would get dangerously cold.

She sat down next to him.

"Wonder if the niceness is a sign of these people treating prisoners well, or of long-term occupation," she continued, saying what he had been trying not to think of.

"You think the Captain and Michèl are okay?"

"I think so. They hadn't disturbed the ritual, last I saw them. If they'd kicked up a fuss they'd probably be in here with us."

"Hmm."

The silence ritual they'd been asked to participate in to seal the new alliance with these people was supposed to have been a few hours long, max a day. Brad had understood that they were waiting for some sort of natural signal, but didn't know what exactly. The damn ritual had already taken more than a day when everything had gone to hell.

* * *

"How much food do we have?" she asked. She'd settled down on the straw she'd spread out in the corner, taking inventory of what she had in her pockets.

He dug out two squashed powerbars and half a roll of dextrose tablets, and crouched down to avoid looming over her. She added four powerbars and three quarters of a slightly linty chocolate bar.

They shared a look. Three powerbars each wasn't a lot, and neither of them had eaten since the ritual had started.

"Lovely." He heard the sarcasm and registered the command performance. It had taken him months to realise that bland understatement, no matter how dire the situation, was her default means of expression. He'd come to interpret it as her assertion that things were in hand, a sort of shorthand between her and the Captain. Sarcasm, which never seemed to sit well on her low voice, was a sign she was worried.

They ate a powerbar each and worked out for a while to get warm - they'd just spent almost a day sitting still. Then, figuring they could both use the distraction, he asked her to show him a few Aikido joint locks.

They spent a surprisingly pleasant - giving the circumstances - hour trying and discussing Aikido vs Brazilian Jiu Jitsu techniques. He discovered that while it looked theatrical and ridiculous and like it only worked on a willing victim, there were a lot of moves that were coercive enough to make willing victims out of anybody not willing to dislocate a joint.

* * *

"How do you think this will play out, ma'am?"

She tilted her head, considering.

"Their religion doesn't lean toward blood retribution," she said after a long moment. "And they know we're a much better friend than enemy. Best case scenario, they've just stashed us noisy idiots out of the way while they finish the silence ritual."

"And worst case scenario?"

"Rocks fall, everybody dies," she said immediately. When he gave her a Look, she flashed a dry grin and continued, "Okay, more likely the Captain would call in Major Lorne or Colonel Carter, and do what I usually do - smooth things over, negotiate a more positive trade agreement for these people."

Yeah, he'd been present for one of those. He had a sinking feeling.

"Basically, trade us for toba root?"

"Trade us for toba root," she agreed.

* * *

The cave system was empty apart from the two of them - not even guards remained. This supported the idea that everybody had gone back to the ceremony now the disruptors had been removed. Unfortunately it also increased the likelihood that there would be no food brought to them, which did not do wonders for the Lieutenant's disposition.

It was an unspoken understanding within the team that she had some food issues. Brad guessed they probably stemmed from a youth where the Dented Mystery Can Diet might have been the better option, but he sure as hell wasn't going to ask, and she would probably rather die before explaining why she always brought so much extra food on missions. 

He considered offering her an extra power bar, but the argument 'You should eat part of my share because I think being hungry distresses you and it's only uncomfortable to me' wasn't one they could have, out loud, ever. He knew her well enough by now to know that she'd be mortified that he'd noticed, and then being stuck together in a cell would get really uncomfortable. Instead he added the data to his mental Care And Feeding Of Team file.

The amusing thing was that they all had one of those. The Lieutenant's was largely physical and medical - not long after he'd passed his try-out period, she'd sat down with him to go over his medical file. She'd asked about the recurring knee issue and if he ever had shoulder problems after it had been dislocated once and all the other things that could conceivably come up in the field. It had felt intrusive at the time, until he'd realised that she kept just as close an eye on the Captain's bad elbow and occasional headaches, and that she carried a heat pad for Michèl's back.

His file was more about the kind of care an NCO could give toward officers. With Nate it had been about taking weight off his shoulders when Brad could, being a silent confidant in the moments that the avalanche of bullshit got too much, and guarding his sleep from bullshit interruptions.

With Captain Avery it was about tactical backup, the unspoken understanding that if the shit hit the fan, the two of them would be doing the heavy lifting, and that Brad would keep the team alive. Not that LTs Brittner and Cadman and Michèl weren't perfectly competent in a jam, because they were, but when things got tense, Brad automatically dropped back. Avery on point, Brad on their six, bracketing the team in a way nobody needed to articulate, but which he knew made the Captain breathe easier.

His mental entry for Michèl went something like: 1) watch his back when he's geeking out over some Ancient something or other. 2) Speak French when waking him from bad dreams, it anchors him. 3) Carry a spare memory card for the camera, because he always fills all three of his own and then finds something else he absolutely has to film.

His mental entry for Lt. Brittner had: 1) what she looked and sounded like when she wanted to be extracted from a conversation or situation. 2) How to wake her without either getting punched or freaking her the fuck out. 3) What subjects were off limits for jokes. 4) All five verses of the Spiderma'am song, because it could make her snort with laughter no matter how grim things got.

He resolved that when they got out of there, he'd start carrying some more food on his person. Couldn't hurt, anyway. You never knew when you'd get separated from your pack.

* * *

She finally wrapped herself in a foil blanket and settled down on the straw, grim faced and silent.

He watched her drift in and out of sleep for a while, curled up tightly in the corner. After a ridiculously long inner debate on the relative temperature vs body heat situation, the nature of the phrase 'huddling for warmth', his own protective instincts, what he would be doing if she were male, and what she would say if she knew he was waffling about this - not to mention how hard Dusty would laugh if she could hear his thoughts - he sank down to sit next to her and gently tugged her to lean against him.

"Hmm?"

"Dusty's gonna kick my ass if I let you get hypothermia," he explained in a low grumble, arranging a foil blanket around himself. She had her hands tucked inside her sleeves like a kid, but he could tell how cold she was. He arranged her sideways in front of him, pulled her against his chest and wrapped his arms and blanket around her. Might as well maximise shared surface now he'd decided it was okay to do this.

She tucked her forehead against his neck and mumbled "That would suck." She sighed. "And all because you didn't want to cuddle with me.."

"It's not fucking cuddling if you're a marine," he said.

"'m Airforce." She huffed a soft laugh against his neck when he made a disgruntled sound.

"Marines don't cuddle. Check." She sounded half asleep, and it didn't take long for her to drift off again.

* * *

She woke a few hours later, muzzy 'mfh' followed by a sharply indrawn breath. He sat very still while the tension returned to her body and she took in what was going on.

"It's okay," he said softly, withdrawing his arms. They'd both warmed up in the little tent of emergency blankets, but he was ready to move and stretch a little after a couple of hours sitting still.

It took a few minutes to get over the awkwardness, but they were fine after that, and she seemed a little more at ease in her skin.

* * *

"You should sleep a while," she said when it was getting dark outside. They'd been sitting shoulder to shoulder for a few hours, occasionally talking, but mostly just silently waiting for whatever would come their way. He had to call on combat training not to doze off in the quiet.

"Don't need to," he said firmly, getting up to pace the cell.

She gave him a very dry look. He'd been awake for two days straight and she knew it. Besides, there really wasn't any reason not to trade off sleep in a locked cell.

"Don't think I could," he conceded after a long moment.

"For any specific reason? I've seen you sleep through a Wraith chase in the jumper."

He glanced toward the cell door. He was worried they'd take her away while he wasn't awake to stop them, worried about what they could do to her, but he wasn't sure if that was something he wanted to say out loud. He respected her as a teammate and warrior, if one with a different skillset, but he'd never lost the sense that in some situations she was more vulnerable than he was, and needed protection. He had no idea if he could even find words to explain himself. 

"Come here," she said on a sigh, gesturing to the space beside her. "Lean against me."

He nodded slowly in understanding - there was no way for them to take her away without waking him that way. And she hadn't even made him say any of it out loud. He gave in and sat down where she indicated, and they shuffled for a moment, trying to get comfortable with the straw and the foil blankets.

They ended up with her at an angle away from him, facing the doorway. He could lean against her back, head against her shoulderblade, without it feeling too weirdly intimate. The blankets rustled for a while as they both settled, and then he had that weird sensation of silence stretching that meant he was hazing out. 

"Still not fucking cuddling," he said mulishly into the collar of her BDU coat, trying to repress a yawn.

"Of course not." She was humouring him, but sleep was already yanking him down, and he didn't reply.

* * *

He woke to low, slightly off-key humming.

He blinked. It was soft, but...

"Ma'am, are you singing fucking _ABBA,_ of all things?"

She stopped abruptly, and he felt her head turning a little toward him.

"Humming. But uh, maybe?"

He lifted his head from its comfortable pillow on her shoulderblade.

"Of all the songs in the world, it has to be ABBA?"

"Be nice, or I'll tell people you totally do cuddle."

He looked down and quickly removed the hand that was clutching the bottom hem of her jacket.

"Is there some sort of competition on who can max out my surreality meter?"

"Sorry, it's the song my head defaults to," she shrugged. He pushed himself upright so she could move around. Contrary to what he'd expected, he'd slept almost three hours. And he did feel better. 

"How is this my life?" he asked the world in general. "First we go to the planet of the wacky bird ritual. Then we get thrown into fucking prison-"

"--because you sneezed during their important silent ritual," she supplied helpfully.

"Because the fucking flying feathers made me sneeze," he agreed, resignedly, "and because you said 'bless you'."

"Well, yeah."

"And then you sing ABBA, which gave me a really bizarre dream, thanks for that."

"You're welcome," she said brightly. "Hey look, I think help just arrived."

He shot upright, staring at the entrance. He couldn't see or hear anything.

"It'll be a while, but I have that.. thing.. where I think a jumper just came near us."

"...thing?"

"Like a.." she handwaved. "Taste.. in the back of my brain? Jumpers taste like how it feels to run your finger around the rim of a wineglass. It's very distant right now."

"That is really fucking weird."

"Yup," she agreed, fishing two powerbars and the remaining chocolate out of a pocket.

* * *

"Hello sirs," she said, tone resigned.

"Lieutenant, sergeant," Major Lorne said, hint of a smile twitching around his lips.

"You trade us for toba root or salt, sir?"

"Neither."

Captain Avery appeared next to the Major. He looked tired, but relieved to see them, and like things were okay now. "They just wanted you guys gone so the bloody bird would come to roost already, and then apparently that took much longer than it usually does."

"So basically..."

"...you we were the kids that got sent to the hallway until the important grownup stuff was over," Major Lorne nodded dryly, lifting the bar that held the cell door shut. There was a muffled snort from behind him. Meyers, Brad thought.

Lieutenant Brittner looked resigned and amused and like maybe she was too relieved to be embarrassed.

He followed her out of the cell with a serious "Thanks for the rescue, sirs."

The Captain quirked a grin, showing that he'd heard the 'incredibly heroic' Brad had edited out.


End file.
